


You’re Too Blind to See and I’m Too Tired to Tell

by yousopugly



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yousopugly/pseuds/yousopugly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine watches Zach’s hands all over Kurt, touching his arm after every other sentence, tactilely admiring the fabric of his jeans, brushing a non-existent crumb from his hair. It’s not a matter of competing with Zach because there is no competition; Blaine’s already lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re Too Blind to See and I’m Too Tired to Tell

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a one-shot that I thought about on a plane and finally finished off. Naturally, it's blangst. Title from Plastic Man by Seether.

Blaine watches Zach’s hands all over Kurt, touching his arm after every other sentence, tactilely admiring the fabric of his jeans, brushing a non-existent crumb from his hair. Blaine watches, but doesn’t say anything, just continues making drinks in the kitchen area. He tells himself to stop overreacting as Kurt’s words from their fight two days ago run through his head— _Look, Blaine, I don’t know what to tell you…there’s nothing going on….you get so clingy sometimes for no good reason…you’re the one who cheated, Blaine, why are you the one with trust issues?_

He glares at the green-coloured liquid, spearing a strawberry with one of the stirrers so hard that it splits in two, and pointedly ignores Zach’s never-ending staccato laughter. He focusses on the grainy pattern of the counter for a moment, steeling himself, and then calmly carries the tray of drinks round to Kurt’s friends.

A few of them offer him a smile or a quick ‘thanks, man’ as he makes his way round the room, but for the most part he’s invisible. He gets to Kurt’s cluster of people near the end, and hands him one of the glasses—the one he’d saved specifically for Kurt because it had the biggest strawberry on the top. Kurt barely pauses mid-anecdote to mutter a quiet ‘thanks, honey’ and certainly doesn’t take his eyes away from Zach’s overly-interested facial expression. Zach shifts his weight, angling his body away from Blaine without even taking a drink and placing his hand on Kurt’s bicep so as to block Blaine from the little circle completely. Kurt doesn’t appear to notice.

Blaine blinks back tears as he hurries over to the kitchen again, quietly replacing the tray on the counter and facing away from all the guests. He can see what’s going to happen; it feels like a truck is hurtling towards him, but he’s unable to move, his feet stuck to the tarmac of the road. Zach will continue to laugh at Kurt’s jokes, be overly affectionate and complimentary about his outfit, and then, at the end of the night, he’ll step closer and whisper in Kurt’s ear. Kurt will blush—pleasantly taken aback—he will murmur something in return, perhaps raise an eyebrow, and then walk away, hips swaying seductively in his tight jeans. Kurt will start to get busier, hang out with his ‘friends’ more, often late at night, or maybe even until early morning. Then he’ll go away on supposed fundraising weekends with Vogue.com and come home happy and pliant, far too unstressed for three days of work. Eventually, he’ll stop coming home to Blaine at all.

But the thing is, Kurt is right. Why should Blaine get to make a big deal out of it? Why should he be so melodramatic and controlling? He’s such a hypocrite for getting upset at Kurt when he was the one who broke them in the first place—he was the one who cheated first. And, really, it was only a matter of time before Kurt got bored of him. While Kurt had only grown and matured in New York, both in terms of his personality and his physique, Blaine has shrunk impossibly smaller. He’s now just some pudgy, insecure, needy, _useless_ kid who Kurt knows he can’t trust. It’s not a matter of competing with Zach because there is no competition; Blaine’s already lost.

With that realisation, he can’t stop the tears that have been building behind his eyes and suddenly he can’t be in the loft anymore; he can’t stand here and watch as the thing that means most to him in the whole world starts to unravel. He grabs his coat and slips out of the door, silently sliding it shut behind him. It’s not like anyone is going to miss him.

He walks around pointlessly for a while, letting himself follow unknown paths until he’s just shy of lost and then making his way back to a familiar setting. He repeats this process, vision perpetually blurry, until he’s too cold to keep it up; the coat he’d grabbed in a hurry isn’t exactly thick. He winds up at Sam’s door in the end and thankfully Sam and Mercedes let him inside without asking too many questions. It’s late (although Blaine isn’t sure _how_ late as he’d apparently left his phone at the loft) and judging on their pyjamas, he’s disturbed them. He refuses Sam’s offer of a ‘bro chat’ and gratefully accepts a blanket for the couch from Mercedes before waving them both off to bed, promising that he’ll be absolutely fine on his own until morning.

Once they’ve gone back upstairs, he spreads the blanket out on the couch, but simply lies on top of it, already certain he’s not going to get any sleep. He wonders whether the party has broken up yet, or whether it’s still in full swing, Kurt’s stylish friends getting steadily more drunk and rowdy. A small, particularly vicious part of his mind speculates whether Zach is now the only one left, whether his stupidly broad fingers are already exploring pale, flawless skin. Most of all, he wonders if Kurt has noticed that he left. He tosses and turns as unmeasured hours pass in a blur of darkness and what-ifs, falling into an exhausted sleep just as the first rays of light peer round the curtains.

He awakes to the sound of voices and the smell of home-brewed coffee.

“—wouldn’t tell us anything, just said he needed a place to crash.” Blaine vaguely recognises Sam’s voice.

“Poor boo looked really upset though,” That one definitely sounds like Mercedes.

“I should’ve followed him, but I didn’t realise—I thought he just wanted some air.” The third voice is different to the others; it resonates through Blaine like a bucket of cool water being poured over him.

He sits up with a jolt, his eyes flying open and meeting Kurt’s where he’s sat cross-legged on the floor next to the couch, a mug of coffee clutched in his pale hands. Sam and Mercedes fall quiet as Kurt offers up a small smile.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” Kurt says and the events of the previous night come flashing back with those words that are so painfully untrue. The dull ache behind his eyes tells him that he most definitely hasn’t just slept for a hundred years and he’s well aware he couldn’t be any less beautiful, especially right now.

Kurt seems to pick up on the emotions flashing through Blaine because his smile fades into a frown and he carefully places his coffee down on the nearby side table. Sam and Mercedes tactfully leave the room, muttering half-excuses that Blaine pays no attention to.

“You disappeared last night,” Kurt states slowly and it’s such an obvious statement that Blaine doesn’t know what to say in reply. He nods and drops his gaze to the blanket that he’s still lying on, the bottom half having fallen off the cushions.

“Are you going to tell me why?” Kurt continues.

“I just needed—I didn’t want to get in the way of you and your friends. None of them really wanted to talk to me and you were busy with Zach and stuff…” He trails off, knowing he sounds utterly pathetic. 

Something seems to dawn on Kurt then. “Wait, is this about our conversation the other day?”

Blaine doesn’t point out that it had been more of a fight than a conversation. He sighs and looks up at Kurt properly.

“Look, Kurt, I know you think you’re being kind or whatever, but please just get it over with…”

“Get what over with? Blaine, what’s going on?”

Blaine growls in frustration but it comes out as a little choking noise. “I know you can’t trust me anymore and I understand; what I did was horrible and unforgiveable and, believe me, I _know_ that—I told myself you’d forgiven me and I just— I know I’m too clingy and you’re trying to build your own life here and the last thing you need is some needy pathetic thing hanging onto you. And I know I had no right to get annoyed about Zach because I’m a giant hypocrite, and I know that he’s much more attractive than me —which, really, wouldn’t be hard—and I know you’d have more fun with him and he’d make you happier so it’s –it’s fine. Just get it over with and break up with me.” 

He barely draws breath as he says it all, everything that has been spinning around his head all night finally tumbling out of him. It’s almost a relief.

Kurt is staring at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. _No, Blaine,_ he reminds himself, _you don’t get to stare at his lips anymore._ Kurt exhales and then starts shaking his head slowly and deliberately, as if trying to clear it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been feeling like this?”

Blaine laughs once. “Because I thought that if I pretended everything was fine, I might get to keep you for a bit longer. But then I saw you with Zach last night and—and he’ll make you so happy, Kurt.”

“I am happy, you moron! _You_ make me happy!”

“But what about—”

“—Look, it may have been pointed out to me by Rachel that Zach does have a bit of a thing for me and maybe he was sort of coming onto me last night, but I don’t reciprocate those feelings at all! Why would I be engaged to you if I didn’t completely love you?” 

“Because you feel sorry for me.” Blaine says quietly, admitting his biggest fear all along. 

“No.” Kurt says firmly, sitting up on his knees and shuffling until he’s right against the couch, close enough to cradle Blaine’s face between both of his hands. “No, no, no, no. I am not with you because I feel sorry for you, or any other stupid idea you have in your head. I’m with you because I love absolutely everything about you. _Everything_. I love how you need me to remind you that you’re amazing, and how much you light up whenever I give you a tiny hint of just what you mean to me. And I love how much you enjoy our cuddle sessions and how worried you get if I’m late home or miss your call; it doesn’t make you needy, Blaine, it shows you _care_. I love that you’re not some smarmy idiot who thinks he’s a literal Greek God; I love that you find me attractive whether I’m making stupid unsexy faces in the mirror or naked on top of you, and I love that your hands are shaped just perfectly to fit into mine. I love you, Blaine. I said yes when you asked me to marry me because I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, and being loved by you, and nobody is ever going to change my mind about that, ok?”

Blaine knows he’s crying by the time Kurt stops talking, can feel the tears sliding down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care because Kurt still loves him. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this, but somehow _Kurt still loves him_.

“I love you, too.” Blaine gets out through his tears and Kurt offers him a watery smile of his own before slowly closing the distance and resting their foreheads together. They stay like that for a moment, Blaine watching the way Kurt’s eyelashes flutter over his impossibly smooth cheeks. It suddenly seems unbearable to Blaine to even consider a life without him; God, he’d clutch hold of Kurt’s legs and never let go if he had to.

Kurt inhales shakily and then opens his eyes. “Come on, let’s go home.”


End file.
